surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Hundred-seventeenth Find in the meaning of life Scavenger Hunt.
(Proof of the Bio Statement;) IT’S LIKE A TWING… singes the sleeves, also the master plan, gone now I suppose. Think bigger, you slicker, Mr. Kovach, Snow King on the failed sun gas giant’s heat wave. Quick save in the tunnel on the rails infinitum—oh, it’s a loading screen. Hold, Please. Lactose, never cheese in the party photo, what bro?! Shit, let the duel commence. Not playing the fool, not introducing myself again. (What? Whe--) Creating the element that fits the villain ride, blanketed in a peacoat, lesser Boondock Saint or the assassin mistaken for the Hitman nerd, choose your color. 3…2… Warnings stop fitting the outcomes. No clear direction anymore, not even to run. Both keep you warm before the buttons meet. Take a seat…A different kind of meeting, under grandiosed therapeutic style of retreating, bleeding into this tattoo for a certain 'kind--' of feeling. No use seething, I’m rereading that cosmic pamphlet (thanks) that everyone received at the gate, and while as we gaze now it’s a four-part novel now, most others forgot they memorized it in their waiting room.
By Willem Indigo2 months ago in Poets
What is a Man?
The same hands that destroy Can care and build Careful how you raise your boy Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook , Twitter , and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here .
By Atomic Historian2 months ago in Poets
A former student assaulted two girls yesterday
A former student assaulted two girls yesterday in the woods, without a soul to hear not even from the adjacent trailer; they screamed in douleur, fear muttered from their slurred words, girls drugged with tabs, trippin bad—mad beaten and maimed— a young man actin like his ol man aye. Take it like a real woman , he ravaged like a primal beast before his boon, his humanity shot, discardin these girls in a parkin lot, caught by twelve in his trailer lot.
By Thomas Bryant2 months ago in Poets
